


Something to Break the Ice

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom John, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Bottoming from the Top, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Morning After, Power Outage, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Smut, Top John Watson, Top Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: Sherlock falls through the ice when he and John are on the case, John saves his life of course but once they get home they find that the power is out.  Everyone knows the best way to keep warm is by sharing body heat, so that's exactly what John and Sherlock do.  Confessions and shenanigans ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dearest readers,
> 
> It must be the time of year because it is so cold, but I have read so many darling stories about John and Sherlock being trapped in the cold (Outside in a tent, in their broken down car, in their apartment without any heat, the list goes on and on it seems) and needing to share body heat and subsequently confessing their undying love and affection in that space. So I couldn't resist (I have this terrible affinity for sweet, little domestic fics that are just fluffy) I've had these lovely little plot bunnies floating around in my head for far too long and needed to get them written down to get them out of my brain. I hope you won't find it too terribly cliched and that you will enjoy this little fic, I certainly enjoyed writing it.
> 
> As ever, I own nothing and I make no profit from any of the works I write. Also, I am terrible at making up titles and struggle with tagging so my apologies in both regards.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and delight me to no end (even if it takes me a little while to respond sometimes). I hope to have the second chapter posted tomorrow. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

_John_

John stomped up the stairs to the flat, leaving a trail of water behind him and shuddering from the chill that seemed to have worked its way into his very bones. Sherlock followed along behind him, oddly quiet in light of the fact that they’d just solved a case. John knew his silence stemmed from the desire to keep John from shouting at him; he did so hate to be told ‘I told you so.’

But in fairness, John had told him not to walk out onto the frozen lake. John had told him that he was putting himself in danger, the ice couldn’t possibly be frozen well enough to walk on yet. But no, Sherlock I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-about-water Holmes refused to listen to John’s assessment. His exact words had been, ‘I’ve studied areas in science that you couldn’t even pronounce, John,’ and John’s jaw had snapped shut lest he yell at the detective in front of Donovan and Anderson. As angry as Sherlock had made him, he was unable to abuse the detective in front of those two and add fuel to their flames. (And from the way he’d looked at John after he’d said it, he’d known he’d overstepped.)

So out onto the ice he went; his arms spread for balance, his feet stretched apart to help displace his weight. John had had to close his eyes against the flood of hateful memories at seeing Sherlock’s arms splayed wide lest he fall. He’d headed out toward the middle where a flash of red stuck out like a sore thumb.

John had thought that Sherlock might have been right, he’d thought (fervently hoped) he’d misjudged the ice because Sherlock had picked up the hat, examined it for a moment before his face lit up and he’d started to move back to shore. He’d been about 15 meters away from John and John had just started to breathe easier when there was a great crack.

John had started out toward him before the ice under Sherlock’s feet had even started to give way, screaming his name as he moved. The other man had disappeared under the water and John forgot everything he knew about keeping his weight displaced and balancing himself so he didn’t go under too and had raced in after him.

It was a little known fact about Sherlock Holmes, but he was an atrocious swimmer. John wondered if it was in part because of his lack of body fat, he couldn’t even float. But with that giant coat on he’d sink like a rock and John knew Sherlock had little hope of pulling himself out.

John dove in and the frigid water hardly even phased him as he reached out toward Sherlock’s flailing form. He wrapped his arms under Sherlock’s and kicked powerfully toward the surface, dragging Sherlock up with him. It took a mammoth amount of energy and his muscles had burned and tingled at the same time but he fought his way to the surface.

Finally he dragged their heads out of the water and both he and Sherlock started gasping in air. Sherlock, who was coughing and choking on the water he’d undoubtedly breathed into his lungs, was still flailing his arms like the damned fool he was and almost dragged them back under.

“Sherlock!” John shouted, “Calm down.” By this point Greg had managed to get a board out across the ice and John started dragging them toward it. When they reached it, John helped get Sherlock onto it and out of the water before following behind him.

“Are you idiots alright?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock was still hacking water up out of his lungs and John felt like the very marrow of his bones had frozen solid, his teeth were chattering so hard he worried they might break. Donovan came over a few seconds later and handed them both blankets as they climbed into Lestrade’s car.

Once they were ensconced in the heat of the car, Sherlock had explained through chattering teeth exactly what had happened to the girl and how the thieves had seemingly vanished. John was actually rather looking forward to writing up the case once he’d gotten warmed up and dry.

Thus they’d finally made it back to their flat, soaking wet and freezing. Once they got upstairs John promptly stripped out of his jacket and jumper, leaving him in his trousers and vest. “Go take a shower,” he said, looking at Sherlock who was still shivering and whose teeth were still clanking together.

“What about you?”

“I’ll shower when you’re done.” John went over and started to pull Sherlock’s coat off, “Go on. I’ll run downstairs and put your pajamas in the dryer so they’ll be warm when you’re done.”

Sherlock, in a surprising fit of obedience, nodded and headed off to the bathroom. John went up and stripped out of the remainder of his wet things and slipped into his bathrobe. He took his pajamas and collected Sherlock’s as well before tossing them into the dryer and returning to the living room. He stoked up a fire in the fireplace before heading to the kitchen where he brewed a pot of tea and made some soup and cheese toasties.

He'd just finished eating his sandwich and was putting the food on a plate for Sherlock when he padded out of the bathroom, steam trailing in his wake.

“Go grab your pajamas and then come eat,” John called as he headed to the shower and climbed inside, letting the hot water sluice over his body and warm him to the core. His shoulder ached something fierce.

When he came out, he found Sherlock holding out his pajamas to him just fetched from the dryer. John couldn’t help the small smile, “Thanks.” He put them on and returned to the living room where Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, curled up in a ball with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

John sat down on the other end of the sofa. It was a habit the two of them had picked up after John moved back in after Mary died.  It was a little cramped sometimes with the both of them and a baby but there was no where else that John called home.  For now Rosie's crib was set up in John's room and they could figure the rest out when they got there.  But as it stood tonight, Rosie was spending the night at Molly's because John and Sherlock were finishing up a grueling case.

"You're quiet," John commented.

Sherlock hummed and looked over at John but didn’t say anything.

“Let me check your extremities for signs of frostbite.”

Sherlock snorted, “I’m sure that’s not necessary. I would know if one of my toes was about to fall off.”

John glared at him and Sherlock gave in with a sigh; holding out first one hand, then the other and performing all of the tasks John asked him to. Then he untucked his feet from the blanket, resting one across John’s lap so John could inspect it.

“Why didn’t you put on socks, you numpty?”

Sherlock shrugged, “There weren’t any in with my pajamas so it didn’t occur to me.”

John sighed and reached out and touched Sherlock’s foot. A shiver coursed its way through his body at the contact. “Your foot is freezing!” John said, wrapping both of his hands around it and rubbing vigorously. “It’s like a bloody popsicle.”

“They’re always cold.” Sherlock commented, wiggling his toes to show that he hadn’t lost any range of motion.

When John had sufficiently rubbed heat into Sherlock’s first foot he traded it for the second and did the same thing. John let his thoughts drift as he warmed up Sherlock’s foot and his hands automatically began massaging his arches. Pressing along the arch before kneading the ball his foot.

John was brought back from his thoughts when Sherlock let out a low groan that sounded borderline pornographic. John jumped and his hands immediately ceased the foot rub.

“Mmmmh. Don’t stop,” Sherlock pleaded. His head had fallen back against the sofa, his neck elongated and on display, and his eyes closed in what John assumed was bliss. He looked up at him after a moment, his face as relaxed and open as John had ever seen it. “Please,” he said softly.

John complied, pressing his thumbs into Sherlock’s arch and rubbing upwards.

Sherlock sighed softly and his eyes closed once more. “I didn’t know you’d taken massage therapy classes at University,” he rumbled, his voice sounded even lower than usual and was impossibly sexy; it was doing things to John’s libido (as it always seemed to.)

John cleared his throat, “I didn’t.”

“Wherever did you learn to do this, then?” Sherlock asked, a soft gasp escaping his throat as John rubbed out a knot.

When he’d gotten the last of the knot out he said, “Give me the other one back.” Sherlock happily complied as John debated how to answer his question. “I learned it from someone I used to date. She was rather fond of a good foot rub.”

“Ah.” Sherlock replied.

They were quiet, enjoying the peace and calm in the apartment and one another’s company. Neither of them had said it but John suspected they were both equally glad to be living together once more. Truth be told, John had missed Sherlock desperately when he’d lived with Mary. He’d loved her, of course he had, but he’d missed Sherlock. There was just something about being with him that made him feel settled in his own skin.

Sherlock had just started to doze and John was storing that bit of information for the next time Sherlock was so wound up he couldn’t sleep when the power flickered and went out. Sherlock was roused from his slumber when John cursed under his breath.

“What?” he asked, sounding somehow trepidatious as though he’d done something wrong.

“Power’s out.” John replied giving his foot a light squeeze in reassurance. “We’re going to have to sleep down here by the fire if it doesn’t turn back on, especially after our swim. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Do you think it’s out everywhere or did you forget to pay the electric bill?”

John snorted, “I paid the electric bill. And I’m fairly sure it’s everywhere, even the streetlights outside are off.”

Sherlock hummed. “I’m not sure the sofa is going to be conducive to both of us sleeping on it. I’ll sleep on the floor,” he volunteered.

“Right. Let’s just get some blankets in here and we’ll go from there, yes?”

They both got up off the couch and got all of the blankets from their respective rooms. When they got back to the living room, John dumped his into a pile on the floor with Sherlock’s. “Why don’t you check and make sure Mrs. Hudson has enough firewood and I’ll stoke up the fire a bit?”

Sherlock nodded and headed downstairs, John added a couple of pieces of wood to the fire but he didn’t really think it was going to be enough to keep the two of them warm all night, especially after their icy swim. He was worried about Sherlock, he’d been quiet and his feet had been freezing; was he being quiet because he was sick but didn’t want to tell John?

John decided right there that he wasn’t letting Sherlock sleep on the cold floor, the couch would be better to insulate the heat and keep him warm. John had spread out his comforter on the floor and made up the couch with Sherlock’s blankets by the time Sherlock got back.

Sherlock looked at the floor and frowned, “John, I told you I would sleep on the floor. I know the cold probably made your shoulder ache and sleeping on the floor won’t do it any favors.”

John laid his second blanket across the first and put his hands on his hips, “I’m not convinced your core temperature is as high as it should be. The floor is too cold for you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock said derisively, stalking past John and unceremoniously pulling his blankets off the couch and onto the floor.

“Sherlock!” John scolded, moving forward to stop him. They ended up in a tug-of-war with the blankets and a moment later they’d slipped as the comforter under their feet slid across the hardwood floors. They fell into a heap, John somehow landing on one of Sherlock’s legs and Sherlock landing across John’s abdomen.

“Ouch,” John grumbled.

“Well if you weren’t so bloody stubborn that wouldn't have happened.” Sherlock told him as they untangled themselves.

“If I weren't so bloody stubborn? Hello pot, meet kettle.”

“I’m sleeping on the floor.” Sherlock replied as he re-arranged his blankets so his comforter was under him and he pulled the other up to his chin.

“Well, so am I,” John said stubbornly. “Then when you get cold you can move your skinny arse up onto the sofa to warm up.”

Sherlock glared at him, “Or you can move up there when your shoulder starts to completely stiffen up.”

John looked at their blankets and decided there was no sense in laying out his comforter beside Sherlock when they could be covered with it. He scooched closer to Sherlock until he was on his comforter then wrapped himself up in his blanket before covering them with his comforter. “At least you’ll be a little warmer this way,” he groused.

They were quiet once more, just staring at one another and thinking in their own worlds. John couldn’t get over how lovely Sherlock’s complexion was in the firelight. The way the firelight turned his skin a warm, golden hue and the way the light flickered and caught in his hair; he was stunning. He’d noticed it before, a hundred or perhaps a thousand times, of course but there was something about tonight that made him seem less ethereal and out of John’s reach and more tangible and real.

“You’re quiet,” John said for the second time that evening.

“I’m often quiet,” Sherlock replied evenly. “As you may recall, I did warn you about that before we’d moved in together.”

“Ah yes, the list of your worst traits,” John said with a chuckle. “I’m going to be honest with you, Sherlock, those are not your worst traits. Nor are they even all accurate.”

“What do you mean they’re not my worst traits?” Sherlock asked, affronted. “And of course they’re accurate!”

“Sherlock, you’re always talking. You’re constantly mumbling about something or another and you are constantly having to repeat yourself because it’s such an ingrained habit that you even talk to me when I’m not in the flat. And as for playing the violin when you’re thinking, well, you torture the violin when you’re bored and you play heartbreakingly well when you’re trying to avoid thinking all together.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, “What then would you say are my worst traits should I ever be in the market for a new flatmate?”

John swallowed and pointedly didn’t not think about Sherlock looking for a new flatmate. “Well, I might say your penchant for the dramatic. Or perhaps your propensity for shooting at walls and completely going berserk when you’re bored. Although, I can't really remember the last time you lost your mind because of boredom. Maybe you’re mellowing out in your old age,” John suggested with a smirk.

“Old age?” Sherlock asked incredulously.

John laughed, “I’m only teasing.” He smiled, “Go on then, what are my worst traits? What's surprised you over the years?”

Sherlock grinned at him, “Your need for tidiness and order, it’s excruciating. The lecturing, certainly has its downsides as well. And then the parade of dull women, Mary excluded of course, she was certainly interesting.”

John snorted, “Interesting is one word.”

Sherlock swallowed and looked down, “But I was surprised to find that I liked your worst traits. Your desire for order helped bring structure to the chaos of my mind when it was at its worst trying to destroy itself. And your lecturing was always well intentioned and-” Sherlock broke off and cleared his throat, “Well, it showed me that you cared about me and that you wanted to help me. I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone genuinely concerned with my well being.”

John laid there in stunned silence, unsure of what to say in the light of Sherlock’s confession.

Sherlock continued, “The women though. There was positively no upside to the women,” he paused. “Except your daughter. She’s an upside, I never thought I’d get to be a godfather. The thought had honestly never even occurred to me.”

“Yes, I remember,” John said with a chuckle.

“What I mean to say, is thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes.” Sherlock replied. “Thank you. It’s what I’ve been thinking all night, I don’t have adequate words to express my gratitude. In many ways, John, you have saved me and tonight was a reminder of that. I would have surely died in that stupid lake were it not for you.” He looked up into John’s eyes, “It’s how it always is with you. You’ve saved me from so many things, John Watson. I meant what I said at your wedding, you know that, don’t you?”

John couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and cup Sherlock’s cheek in his palm, he stroked his thumb along his cheekbone. “The sentiment is mutual,” he whispered. His eyes flitted down from Sherlock’s to his lips and then back up again.

Sherlock let out a shuddering breath and John felt it warm against his own lips. He looked down at Sherlock’s lips once more, when had they gotten this close? “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured.

Sherlock’s breath hitched and John looked up into his eyes, “You can tell me to stop and I will,” John said softly.

Sherlock shook his head, “Don’t stop,” he said breathily.

John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s and his eyes closed at the feeling of rightness that washed through his body leaving goosebumps and tingles in its wake that had nothing to do with the cold.

When John pulled back he opened his eyes to find Sherlock’s still closed, his face tipped up toward John; a blissful, if slightly disbelieving, expression on his face. “Please don’t stop,” he murmured again.

John willingly complied, rising up on his elbow to get a better angle, he brought his lips to Sherlock's once more, cradling his face in his hands. He stroked along the seam of Sherlock’s lips with his tongue and Sherlock tentatively opened his mouth to stroke his tongue along John’s. His entire body shuddered as John wrapped his tongue around Sherlock’s and drew back before setting in again.

Sherlock’s fingers dug into John’s shoulders and John pulled back to rest his forehead against Sherlock’s. He opened his eyes and looked down at his face, his eyes were still closed and John could feel his chest heaving. He pressed a kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s nose and Sherlock tipped his head back further in search of John’s lips once more. “Please,” he whispered.

It would have been easier to cut off his own arm than resist Sherlock’s soft plea, John brought their lips together once more, his heart feeling so full he thought he might float away; it seemed the only thing tethering him to the world was the way Sherlock’s fingers gripped his shoulders. Every inch of him was filled with joy that he couldn’t contain, it felt like it was spilling from his pores and igniting the air all around them. He tried to pour every drop of love and affection he had ever felt for the ridiculous, gorgeous man beneath him into the kiss.

Sherlock shuddered and arched into his kiss, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on John’s back. Sherlock was the first to draw back this time, gasping for breath, and John took the opportunity to press kisses to his jaw and to the tender skin just behind his ear. He nibbled on Sherlock’s earlobe and received a low groan for his trouble.

“John.” Sherlock breathed, and something in his tone made John look up at him. Sherlock was biting his lip and looked almost nervous.

“Sorry,” John said softly, stroking Sherlock’s curls back from his forehead. “Sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

He shook his head, “No it’s,” he swallowed, “It’s fine.” Sherlock looked away from John’s gaze, suddenly shy. John ran a finger along his cheekbone and waited, knowing the rest was coming if he could just be patient enough. “I just don’t know how to do this.”

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel comfortable with,” John told him. “We don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want to,” he said, even though saying it made his chest constrict painfully when he thought of giving this up when it had only just begun.

“I want to!” Sherlock exclaimed, seemingly desperate for John to understand, his hands clenching tightly in John’s jumper. “I really want to. I just, I’ve never done this before.”

“Never?”

Sherlock huffed at him, “You know how I feel about repeating myself.”

“I’m sorry, you just surprised me,” John told him honestly. He’d wondered about it fleetingly all those years ago in Buckingham Palace but then they’d met the Woman, and then there had been Janine, and John could only assume people had thought he was stunning his entire life. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s neck. “I just can’t imagine you had any shortage of suitors.”

Sherlock snorted, “My personality can be rather off putting. I’ve never even kissed anyone in a romantic sense before.”

“What do you want?” John asked. “I’ll give you anything.”

Sherlock looked at him, rubbing his fingers through John’s hair, “I want everything,” he whispered. “I’d never known what it is to want before I met you.”

John pressed his lips to Sherlock’s. “That’s pretty impressive considering the way I’ve seen you crave cigarettes,” he teased.

“You’ve no idea,” Sherlock replied seriously. “Kiss me.”

John did just that, while he was kissing Sherlock he tugged at their blankets that had cocooned them separately from one another and moved so that they were laying half on each other with a mountain of blankets rumpled on top. Once they were grasping at one another’s clothes and breathing heavily into the kiss, his fingers slipped down Sherlock’s chest and stomach to tuck themselves under the hem of his t-shirt. “Yes?” He murmured against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock nodded, “Yes,” he breathed.

John slipped his shirt up over his torso revealing his abdomen and his pectorals. His nipples stood erect in the chill and John couldn’t resist dipping his head down to take a taste. He sucked one of the nubs into his mouth and rubbed his tongue along it. Sherlock gasped and arched up into him, “John,” he groaned as his fingers moved to wrap themselves in John’s hair.

John pulled back and pressed kisses across Sherlock’s chest to his other nipple where he lavished attention on the second one, revelling in the soft mewling noises Sherlock made as he arched his back and shuddered.

When John pulled back Sherlock was panting slightly and a blush had worked it’s way down his neck and chest. He tugged his rucked up tshirt the rest of the way off of him and stared down in amazement at the beautiful being before him.

“You’re stunning,” John said simply.

Sherlock looked away from him, “I’m not,” he said softly.

John couldn’t help but smile at his sweetness, at his innocence, at who the core of Sherlock Holmes really was; a sweet, insecure human, desperate for someone to love him.

“I love you,” John said simply.

Sherlock looked up at him and blinked, “You what?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.

John leaned back down and pressed a kiss to his lips, “I,” another kiss, “Love,” and another, “You.” He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s once more and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him, desperately dragging John to himself and pulling him into a scorching, if slightly messy, kiss.

While they continued kissing, John set to work on Sherlock’s pajama trousers, untying the string and beginning to push them down his hips. “No pants?” John asked, looking down between them at the feeling of silky smooth skin under his fingertips. “Sherlock Holmes, you deviant,” he said with a grin.

“They-” Sherlock’s words were cut off by a gasp as John let his fingers trail along the line of hair trailing down to his groin. “They ruin the line of my trousers and I don’t see any reason to wear them to bed.”

John leaned in and kissed him again, letting his hand drift lower and lower.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, tearing his mouth away to take in huge gulps of air, “Please. Please, touch me.”

John let his hand finally wrap around Sherlock’s cock, he stroked up it’s length and felt Sherlock shudder. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s neck near his ear as he continued stroking his cock in his hand. “What do you want?” John murmured again, licking the shell of his ear. “What do you fantasize about?”

“I-” Sherlock broke off and bit his lip, a blush staining his cheeks once more.

“Tell me,” John cajoled. “Tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything.”

“Sometimes,” Sherlock started before pausing and clearing his throat, “Sometimes I dream about and imagine penetrating you.” He chewed his lip before adding, “But we don’t have to, we can do anything.”

John took his hand off Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock groaned in dismay. John grinned at him and pressed a kiss to his lips as he stripped himself out of his clothes, Sherlock watched with wide eyes as John took everything off.

John had never been particularly self conscious of his body, he’d been around plenty of people naked, the army had taught him that and he’d had no shortage of lovers but something about being bare in front of Sherlock was different and a little bit terrifying. Sherlock reached out and traced his fingers down John’s chest, stroking the skin with feather light touches as though he was afraid John might break or fly away.

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock’s hand and pressed it firmly over his heart before leaning in and giving Sherlock another kiss that started out sweet and gentle but quickly morphed into a hot open mouthed kiss. John groaned, kissing was a skill he’d picked up rather quickly.

John pulled his lips from Sherlock’s and started to move the blanket aside, thinking he’d go grab some lube but as soon as the chilly air hit his skin he closed the blankets back around the two of them and looked at Sherlock. “Sorry, love, it’s not that I don’t want to do what you proposed. I do,” he said with a lascivious grin, “I really do. But I’m not getting out from under this blanket to fetch us lube.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said with a shrug, sitting up and rifling through the couch cushions before producing a bottle of lube and handing it to John.

John laughed, “Why was that in there?”

“Sometimes I masturbate out here when you’re not home,” Sherlock told him easily without guile.

John groaned at the image of Sherlock wanking on the sofa, maybe pressing a finger in and out of his own hole and imagining him. “Condoms?” John asked. “I’m clean but if you’d rather use them I’m not opposed.”

Sherlock shook his head, “I’m clean, too.”

John rolled over onto his hands and knees, presenting his bum to Sherlock and wiggling it. “It’s been a while, so you’re probably going to have to be a little gentle at first,” he told Sherlock, turning his head so he could look at him.

Sherlock held the lube loosely in his hand and stared at John blankly. He cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do,” he murmured.

“That’s alright. Go ahead and get a little lube on your fingers,” John encouraged. “And I’ll stay in this position so you can really see what you’re doing.”

Sherlock scrambled up onto his hands and knees behind John and stroked his fingers down John’s neck and shoulders then his back, stopping when he got to John’s waist before letting his hands slide back up to John’s shoulders once more.

“You’re allowed to touch my arse, you know,” John told him after Sherlock had repeated the gesture several times without dipping below his waist. “In fact, it’s going to be rather difficult if you don’t.”

“Shush,” Sherlock growled before letting his hands trail down and rub lightly over John’s bottom.

“Yes,” John groaned, surprised at how hard his cock was considering they’d only just begun. But they had been waiting for a ridiculously long time to be with one another, so maybe he was excused for being a bit over eager. “Sherlock, please.”

Sherlock spread his buttocks and ran the dry pad of his thumb over John’s hole a few times. Then Sherlock did something that John hadn’t expected at all, and perhaps he should be used to Sherlock performing mind blowing, fantastic feats (the man did come back from the dead after all) but somehow he wasn’t. Sherlock leaned in and tentatively ran his tongue along John’s hole, ever so lightly and only for a very short moment. John let out a groan and his cock dripped onto the blankets.

Sherlock pulled back and brushed his forefinger lightly over the skin, “Not good?” he asked, sounding more uncertain than John had ever heard him.

“No,” John said through a panting breath, “Not good, fucking brilliant.”

He could practically feel Sherlock preening behind him as he bent back and ran his tongue along John’s crease between his buttocks once more before circling John’s hole. Sherlock spread John’s buttocks even further apart and then proceeded to wiggle his tongue and thrust against John’s hole until he’d pressed himself inside of John.

John gasped and grasped the comforter on the floor tightly in his hands to keep from thrusting his arse shamelessly back onto Sherlock’s tongue. As Sherlock continued to lick and suck at John’s rim his hand moved to massage John’s perineum and John almost lost it. “Stop,” he gasped.

Sherlock immediately drew back, jerking away as if he’d been burned. John groaned at his departure, “Too far,” he whined at Sherlock.

Sherlock huffed at him, “Make up your mind,” he grumbled.

“Well if you keep that up, I’m going to come on the floor without you even touching my cock or fucking me.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“Yes, really,” John replied. “And don’t worry, you can study that phenomena later but I really want you to fuck me.”

Sherlock groaned and nibbled at John’s buttock nearest to him. “I want that, too.”

“Good. Then open that fucking lube and get your finger nice and wet.” He heard the tell tale click of the bottle opening and then the squelch as Sherlock squeezed some out of the bottle. “That’s it,” John encouraged, wiggling his bum slightly in anticipation, then Sherlock’s finger was at John’s entrance pressing forward suddenly. “Gently.” John said with a gasp, his hole clenching shut in spite of his attempts at relaxing.

Sherlock pulled his hand back completely, “Maybe we should just do something else,” he said nervously.

John shook his head, “I’ve waited ages for you to fuck me, I’m not about to let you chicken out now.”

“I’m not chickening out,” Sherlock replied, affronted.

“Well I’ve never seen Sherlock Holmes draw back from a challenge before.” John wiggled his bum again and reached back to pull Sherlock’s hand back to the crease between his buttocks. “Come on,” he encouraged, “Just be very gentle. Massage the muscles around my hole.”

Sherlock did as John bid, rubbing and stroking around John’s entrance, making no attempt at breaching him. “Good,” John groaned. “Fuck, Sherlock, that’s so good.” John spread his legs a bit wider and Sherlock continued to rub. “Alright,” John told him, “Press one finger in.”

Sherlock did what John told him and John shuddered as his finger pressed in past the first ring of muscles then the second until Sherlock was in all the way up to his third knuckle. He could hear Sherlock breathing heavily behind him, hot gusts of air puffing across his back.

“Good, now start thrusting in and out, circle your finger and continue relaxing those muscles.”

Sherlock did as he was told and it was quiet for a few minutes apart from their heavy breathing and John’s soft moans. “Yes,” he groaned, “Good. Now put some more lube on you middle finger and use both of them.”

Sherlock paused for a moment and then his fingers were back at John’s entrance pressing forward once more. “You’re so tight,” Sherlock commented.

“You sound surprised,” John said with what would have been a chuckle had Sherlock not managed something exquisite with his fingers that made John groan. “It’s been a very long time since I was penetrated.” He let out a groan as Sherlock scissored his fingers. “That’s brilliant.”

“When was the last time?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“That’s bad form, you know,” John told him, “Asking about a lover’s past when your fingers are up their arse.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, sounding a bit unsure of himself again as his fingers slowed a bit.

“S’fine as long as you don’t stop.” Sherlock continued thrusting again, “Crook your fingers just a bit, love,” John requested. He did as John asked and a moment later his fingers brushed against John’s prostate. “Yesss,” John hissed. “Fuck, Sherlock.” He panted for a moment, “Next finger. Please.”

Sherlock continued, adding a third finger and pressing a soft kiss to John’s shoulder, right over the bullet wound. He mouthed at the gnarled flesh, running his tongue over it before brushing his lips against it. John knew he was measuring it, knew he’d been curious about it probably since the time they’d met, but the way he was touching the scar didn’t feel clinical at all. It felt almost as though he found it beautiful or perhaps moving in a way John couldn’t understand.

“Okay,” John gasped as Sherlock brushed his fingers rather more intensely over John’s prostate. “Fuck, alright. Get your cock in me. Now.”

His fingers stilled but didn’t relinquish their position inside John’s body. Sherlock seem surprisingly still and nervous again.

“What is it?” John asked, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock. Sherlock skin glowed warm in the firelight, his eyes shining, a flush working it’s way down his chest, curls positively riotous. “Tell me,” John murmured.

“I just-” Sherlock broke off, looking away from him and pausing. He cleared his throat, “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He slipped his fingers out of John’s hole and started to lube up his cock.

“Sherlock,” John said softly, turning around so he could still Sherlock’s hand and really look at him. “What is it? You can tell me.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

He shuddered and his eyes closed for a moment before opening once more, “I just want to be able to see your face,” he mumbled before closing his eyes in what appeared to be embarrassment.

John kissed him. He took Sherlock’s face in his hands and he kissed him soundly. How had he been so lucky? How was it possible that this exquisite creature was willing to be with him? Sherlock was giving him such a beautiful gift, he was so precious and good. He hadn’t realized it was possible to love another human being this much. He was so completely enraptured by him, “I love you,” he said against Sherlock’s lips.

“You’ve said that before,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Well get used to it,” John replied, “I plan on saying it much more often.”

John maneuvered the two of them until Sherlock was lying on his back once more and John was straddling his hips. “This is one of my favourites,” he said with a wink as he reached back and stroked lube onto Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock gasped, his hips jerking up into John’s grip. “You’ll need to be careful of that,” John warned. He lined his hole up with Sherlock’s stiff prick, “Don’t try to fuck into me until I’ve had a chance to adjust, yes?”

Sherlock nodded, staring up at John with huge eyes as John pressed the head of his cock to his opening and began to slowly slide down. His head fell back and he groaned as his body stretched to accommodate Sherlock’s cock. When John was fully seated, he looked down at Sherlock.

Sherlock’s eyes were closed tightly shut and moisture had gathered in the corners, his hands were fisted tightly in the fabric of the blankets surrounding them. John leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, wiping tenderly at the tears with his thumbs, “Alright?” he murmured.

Sherlock let out a shuddering sigh and nodded, but refused to open his eyes.

“Look at me,” John requested, mentally adding that Sherlock had been the one that wanted to be able to see his face in the first place.

Sherlock’s eyes opened and he looked up at John, his pupils blown wide and his eyes looking desperate and a bit lost.

“Alright?” John asked, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s cheeks and forehead.

Sherlock nodded but didn’t say anything. John reached out and slotted his fingers through Sherlock’s, bringing them up over his head and holding them there. Sherlock exhaled shakily at the contact and his fingers clenched tightly around John’s.

John rubbed the edge of his nose along Sherlock’s before circling his hips minutely. Sherlock gasped and his fingers clamped down on John’s like a vice. “Yes?” John asked softly.

“Please,” Sherlock whimpered, looking up at John and locking their gazes as John began to rock himself on Sherlock’s cock slowly.

Sherlock bit down hard on his lower lip. “It’s alright, love,” John murmured encouragingly. “You can make all the noise you want.” He pressed his lips to Sherlock’s briefly, “I want to hear you.”

Sherlock released his hold on his lip but the noise that came out wasn't a moan or a whimper, it wasn't a groan or him crying out; it was one word, breathed with care.  The word he whispered John’s name. He said it so softly, so reverently, as though he couldn’t quite believe that this was happening. It occurred to John that perhaps Sherlock had wanted this just as much as he had. It shocked him, truth be told, he wasn’t clever or beautiful, he was just average.

Sherlock’s hips had finally started to rock up on their own accord and John shuddered, “That’s it, love,” he encouraged. “That’s perfect.”

Sherlock’s hands released John’s and disentangled themselves, running up John’s forearms and biceps before slipping to his shoulders where he clung tightly. John felt Sherlock’s knees come up behind him so he could plant his feet more firmly on the floor and thrust.

John sat up, dislodging Sherlock’s hands from his shoulders but allowing him more range of movement. Sherlock’s hands weren’t lost for long, in a few moments they’d slid down and were gripping John’s thighs just as tightly as they had his shoulders.

“Can I?” Sherlock asked, staring up into John’s eyes.

“Can you what, sweetheart?” John asked. He rose up and then thrust back down on Sherlock’s cock quickly, causing both of them to groan as John leaned back a bit and felt Sherlock's cock drag across his prostate. His cock leaked a dribble of precome onto Sherlock’s belly.

Sherlock’s fingers slid from John’s thigh to the puddle of precome on his stomach where he wiped a bit up before bringing it to his lips and sucking it off. John gasped at the sight, feeling his balls clench tightly to his body.

Sherlock looked up at him, a flush tinting his cheeks once more. “Not good?” he murmured, returning his hand to John’s thigh once more.

“Fantastic, love,” John told him honestly. “So fucking hot.”

“Can I touch you?”

John nodded fervently.

Sherlock’s hand slipped from John’s hip to his cock in a matter of seconds, it took him a moment to get his grip right with John’s thrusting and with the slightly awkward angle. John shuddered as Sherlock began stroking his cock, he groaned and felt his hips start gyrating a touch faster, his muscles clenching harder around Sherlock’s cock. “Fuck, yes.”

“John,” Sherlock groaned a touch desperately. “I can’t... Please... Harder.”

John got the message and sped up his movements further, slamming his hips down on Sherlock’s cock and clenching his muscles tighter. Sherlock’s other hand reached down and he fondled John’s balls in his palm and it took John completely by surprise. His orgasm washed over him before he’d even known it was coming. Sherlock tipped over the edge a moment later and John vaguely heard him cry out his name.

John flopped forward once more, landing squarely on Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock let out a soft oomph sound but his arms wrapped around John half a moment later, wrapping him tightly in his embrace.

Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to the top of John’s head and they just laid there together, panting and catching their breath. Eventually, John came back to his right mind and started to move off of Sherlock, Sherlock’s now flaccid cock slipping out of his hole as he moved. He grimaced at the feeling and Sherlock let out a petulant whine, his arms wrapping tighter around John and stilling his movement.

John chuckled softly and placed an affectionate kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. “Let go,” he murmured. “We’re a mess and I’m probably crushing you.”

Sherlock simply shook his head and buried his face in John’s neck, his tongue came out and gave John’s neck tiny kitten licks before he pressed his lips to the skin there. John sighed and relaxed once more, attempting to displace his weight to his arms and legs rather than directly on top of Sherlock.

When Sherlock’s grip slackened a bit, John took the opportunity to press his lips to Sherlock’s before rolling off of him and reaching for the box of tissues on the coffee table. Sherlock glared at him while he wiped up as much of the mess that they had made as he could. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Sherlock grumbled, looking rather cross.

“Like I’ve taken away your favourite toy,” John replied. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, giving Sherlock a wink and revelling in the flush that tinted his cheeks and the tiny smile that quirked the corner of his lips. “But I doubt you would enjoy the feeling of dried come on you when we wake up.”

“We?”

“Well, yes,” John said. “I don’t think either of us plan on going to sleep and never waking up again, do you?”

Sherlock huffed, “Never mind,” he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

John straightened their mess of blankets and couldn’t help the small smile as he gathered Sherlock into his arms, “Come here, you great lanky git.”

Sherlock huffed but didn’t protest as John drew him into his embrace and began stroking his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. “Yes, we,” he said softly, into Sherlock’s curls. “We, for the rest of our lives or as long as you’ll have me, if you want it.”

Sherlock nodded against his chest and John smiled, “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything back but just as John was drifting off to sleep, he thought he heard the words, “And I you, John Watson.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Sherlock_

Sherlock awoke first the next morning, if it could even be called morning, and withdrew carefully from John’s embrace. At some point the power had turned back on, which was fortunate considering their fire had burned out, so the flat was warm and Sherlock could hear the hum of the refrigerator. The dim light peeking in through the curtains was enough for Sherlock to be able to examine John’s features.

He was snoring softly, snuffling a bit every few moments. His face was relaxed and unguarded in a way Sherlock had never realized he loved until this moment. The creases at the corners of his eyes were more prominent than they had been when the two of them had met and he had rather more grey hair than he’d had, too.

And yet somehow, the sentiment which was so deeply ingrained in Sherlock’s being where John was concerned, hadn’t diminished in the slightest. Rather, over the years, Sherlock had learned just how much John Watson meant to him and the extraordinary lengths to which he would go to protect this one man. This one being who meant more to Sherlock than anything, more than being clever, more than cases, more than his own reputation, more than his own life.

He trailed his fingers lightly over John’s forehead before tracing John’s nose, then his lips; mapping out all of his features by touch the way he had by sight so many times. He continued his journey to John’s ear, following the swirl and clasping the lobe lightly between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers slid down the length of John’s neck and traced over his collarbones before coming to rest on the bit of scarred tissue on his shoulder.

He stroked his fingers over it lightly, almost reverently, he felt equal parts gratitude and hatred for the scarred flesh.  On the one hand, it was a reminder that at some point in his life John had been hurt terribly, that he had almost died; he hated the reminder that there had been a time when he hadn't been there to protect John.  But alternatively, had John never been shot, he might have never met him so this bullet wound was a reminder of the fate that had brought them together.  Either way, it was far more than just a simple scar.

As he ran his finger over the flesh he couldn't help remembering the way it had tasted and felt under his tongue the night before. He felt himself blush at the memory of what he and John had done. Arousal tingled through his veins.

He slid his hand further down John’s chest, lightly circling a nipple and watching in fascination as the flesh puckered at this touch. He leaned down and traced it with his tongue before continuing his journey downward. He ran his fingers along John’s ribs and passed over his stomach to his hips. So distracted was he by John’s body that he didn’t register the change in John’s breathing indicating he was no longer slumbering peacefully.

“Tickles,” John murmured softly, twitching away from Sherlock’s fingers a bit when Sherlock touched the line of sandy blond hair leading his fingers further.

Sherlock snatched his hand back and looked up at John a bit guiltily, “Sorry.”

John peeked out of one eye at him, “S’fine.” He yawned and stretched a bit, wincing at what Sherlock assumed was the stiffness in his shoulder before settling back into the blankets once more. “Kiss?” he asked.

Sherlock moved so he was straddling John’s hips placing himself directly over John, cupping his face in his palms.  He stroked his thumbs along John's cheekbones and watched as his eyes fluttered shut at the touch before pressing his lips softly to John’s. John sighed into the contact, bringing his hands up to run them over Sherlock’s sides and his back. Sherlock kissed his lips for another moment before he moved to kiss John's jaw and chin.  Then he continued sliding down John’s chest, trailing wet kisses everywhere he went; exploring John’s taste as surely as he had the way he looked and the way he felt.

John groaned and arched into Sherlock’s touch, “That’s nice,” he murmured softly.

Sherlock hummed and continued his leisurely exploration, his insecurity temporarily assuaged. He continued kissing his way down John’s body, licking and sucking at his ribs and stomach. He pressed a kiss to John’s abdomen and John squirmed a bit under him, “Stop playing with my fat,” he grumbled.

“What fat?” Sherlock asked sitting up slightly and looking John over, starting at his head and looking as far down as he could, which at the moment was only the middle of his abdomen.

John huffed, “Not all of us can be as fit and toned up as say a marble statue or you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock said, rubbing his hands along John’s abdomen and chest before circling his nipples teasingly with his thumb. “You have a highly aesthetically pleasing appearance. Look how symmetrical your features are, for instance.”

“Flatterer,” John grumbled but a small, pleased smile gave away his pleasure as he pulled Sherlock down to press their lips together once more.

“Stop distracting me,” Sherlock mumbled against John’s lips.

“My apologies. Please do continue your exploration.”

Sherlock pressed one quick kiss to John’s lips, a small reward for his fundamental understanding of Sherlock’s need to explore and document. He flipped up the blankets and crawled down to the bottom of their makeshift bed and ran his fingers along John’s toes and feet before pressing kisses along his arches and ankles.

John twitched a bit but Sherlock felt him exhale heavily and still himself once more. “Are you actually ticklish?” Sherlock asked curiously.

“No,” John said, his voice uneven.

Sherlock ran his fingertips very lightly along the arch of John’s feet and ankles. John snorted and started giggling, his feet twitched away from Sherlock.

“Stop,” he said in between giggles and Sherlock obliged him. “I am but only when I’m very relaxed and when I trust someone implicitly,” he could practically hear John shrugging with his voice. “It was something I thought I’d outgrown after childhood, turns out I’d just outgrown trusting people.”

“Interesting,” Sherlock murmured into John’s calf as he continued working his way back up John’s body. He couldn't help the warm glow in the pit of his stomach at John saying he trusted him. He sucked at the skin behind John’s knee and John groaned at the contact.

“Are you memorizing all of the places I’m sensitive?”

“Maybe,” Sherlock murmured, pressing kisses along the inside of John’s thigh and working his way up toward John’s groin, breathing in the heady scent of John himself.

“Sex with you is going to be brilliant, I just know it.”

Sherlock looked up at him with a smirk, “The best you’ve ever had.”

“Cocky bastard.”

“Such pillow talk,” Sherlock murmured as he let his tongue trail up the length of John’s cock.

John gasped, “I can think of a much better use for your mouth at the moment than snarking at me.”

Sherlock took the head of John’s cock into his mouth and sucked lightly before wiggling his tongue under the foreskin; John twitched and he let out an obscene moan.  Sherlock stored that bit of information away before he let his head sink down further onto John’s cock, sucking harder and rubbing along the bottom with his tongue. He loved the taste and the texture of John’s cock; hard and soft all at once, smooth and silky. He groaned around John’s cock and bobbed his head up and down a bit, measuring and feeling how it felt different in different locations. He sucked some of the saliva that was threatening to leak out of his mouth back in and swallowed, the tip of John’s cock pressing toward the back of his mouth and getting squeezed with the swallowing motion.

John groaned and Sherlock could tell he was fighting the urge not to buck his hips up into his mouth. He felt a shudder course through his body at the thought of John holding Sherlock's head still as he drew his cock in and out, fucking his mouth.

“Fuck,” John panted, his fingers entangling in Sherlock’s curls and rubbing pleasantly along Sherlock’s scalp. “How did you learn to do this?”

“I didn’t,” Sherlock said, pulling off and stroking John’s spit slick cock with his hand. “Just my _oral fixation_ as you call it. Aren’t you thankful for those cigarettes now?”

John let out a short bark of laughter, “No.”

“Well let’s see if we can remedy that.” Sherlock winked and took John’s now entirely erect penis back into his mouth. Licking and sucking his length; bobbing his head and groaning when John began to leak a bit of precome into his mouth.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John panted. “Come up here.”

Sherlock sucked a bit harder, not really wanting to leave his prize.

“Sherlock,” John groaned, tugging his hair lightly with his fingers.

Sherlock whimpered and slipped off, his eyes widening at the sensation shooting straight through his cock from John’s fingers in his hair.

“Well,” John said with a grin, “That’s an interesting reaction.”

“I have very sensitive hair follicles.”

“Noted,” John replied, rubbing his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and scratching lightly at his scalp.   
  
Sherlock felt like every bone in his body had turned to goo as he slumped forward onto John’s chest, curling up with his head under John's chin and pressing kisses to his suprasternal notch.

“What do you want?”

“Mmmmh. I thought that had been abundantly clear based on the way I was sucking on your cock,” Sherlock replied snarkily.

John chuckled, “Okay, but what do you want now? I want to come with you.”

Sherlock shook his head, “You are ridiculously sentimental,” he said but he was secretly pleased, well maybe not so secretly; he suspected that John knew it, too.

“Yes, and you love that about me,” John replied.

“God help me, I do,” Sherlock said, raising up on his elbows and pressing a kiss to John lips.

“If you’re really invested in oral, we could flip a little bit so that I can suck your cock at the same time. Or I can bring you off with my hand,” John said, stroking his hand teasingly along Sherlock’s cock. “We could rut against each other until we come,” John offered, thrusting his hips up against Sherlock’s. “Or-”

“Or you could fuck me,” Sherlock told him bluntly.

John’s hand which had been stroking Sherlock’s cock stilled and he stared at Sherlock for a moment as though he were trying to decide whether he was being serious or not.

“I’m not kidding,” Sherlock said. “I penetrated you last night and I would like to be able to compare the sensations of one position to the other.” That and he was a sentimental fool who longed for that sort of connection with John.

“We’re doing this all out of order, you realize,” John said, reaching up and stroking Sherlock’s curls back.

“How so?”

“Most couples progress up to anal sex.”

“Well we aren’t most couples,” Sherlock said with a sniff, even though he felt a tiny bit unsure; he wanted John to want this, too.

“That’s true enough,” John replied, he looked at him for a moment longer before shrugging a bit, “Alright, but if we’re doing that we have to get off of the damn floor. I’m too old for this, my shoulder is killing me.”

Sherlock grinned down at him, “Look who should have slept on the sofa after all.”

John slapped his bum in retaliation, “If you hadn’t been sucking up all of my body heat all night you would be frozen right now,” he retorted. He shifted and pushed at Sherlock’s body to get him to move.

They argued for a moment about whose room to go to but decided on Sherlock's because it was closer, the bed was bigger, and there wasn’t various baby paraphernalia cluttering up his space. When they got into the room, Sherlock found himself suddenly feeling a bit unsure, how did one progress into sex smoothly?

John took his hand a guided him over to the bed, laying Sherlock out on his back and hovering over him so he could kiss him. He kissed him until Sherlock’s head started to feel fuzzy and all of his insecurity unwound itself from his chest. Then John pulled back and looked down at him, his eyes warm with affection.

“I do love you,” John said softly.

Sherlock felt his heart flutter and his tongue froze in his mouth; the words shocked him just as they had the night before. He’d never even let himself imagine those words coming out of John’s mouth, fearing that the fantasy would have dragged him under and held him prisoner in his own mind. And there he would have gladly stayed, just to hear those words from John repeated over and over.

After John's wedding, when he had all but confessed to loving him, he’d given up on John ever feeling anything for him outside of the bounds of conventional friendship. So he'd been entirely unprepared for the words last night. It occurred to him that he probably ought to return the sentiment but by the time his brain clicked back online the moment had passed and John was sliding down Sherlock’s body, pressing kisses as he went.

He stopped at Sherlock’s hip, sucking a small bruise there before moving to take his cock into his mouth. Sherlock’s hips arched up off the bed at the first brush of John’s lips across the head of his cock. “John,” he gasped at the electric feeling coursing through his entire body, setting him aflame.

Then John’s fingers were at his entrance as he tongued the head of Sherlock’s cock. His mouth was soft and warm and it made Sherlock’s toes curl, his fingers rubbed around Sherlock's anus and Sherlock groaned at the implication. After a few minutes of exquisite torture of stimulation that felt incredible and yet at the same time not nearly enough, John’s finger moved away and came back slicked with lube. He pulled off of Sherlock’s cock and said, “Tell me if anything hurts or feels uncomfortable and I’ll stop, okay?”

Sherlock nodded.

John moved his mouth back over the head of Sherlock’s cock and pressed the very tip of one finger into Sherlock’s hole. Sherlock gasped and felt completely overwhelmed by emotion. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to process the feeling of a part of John being inside of him. He was surprised that he felt more intensely about this than he had about being inside of John last night; although he’d been fairly overwhelmed by that, too. He stored away this feeling, locked away this moment.

“Sherlock,” John’s voice called to him, drawing him out of where he’d retreated into his mind to process the way it had the night before. “Sherlock look at me.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at John, surprised to find that John had moved so that he was hovering over Sherlock; his finger still in place but they were face to face again.

“Alright?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, his voice coming out raspy and dark.

John scanned his face looking for something, Sherlock assumed he must have found it because he nodded and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips before he moved back into position. Sherlock watched as his mouth descended on his cock, a sight he was sure he could watch over and over for the rest of his life without getting bored, and he groaned as his finger began pressing in further unbearably slowly.

It continued this way for some indeterminate amount of time, John continued to circle his finger around the first ring of muscles and loosen it up but Sherlock was sure that he hadn't gone more than eighth of an inch inside of his body.  "John please,” Sherlock groaned, “You’re killing me.”

John’s finger froze, which was rather the opposite of what Sherlock had wanted. Sherlock whimpered in desperation and John pulled off his cock.

“What’s wrong? Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Sherlock groaned. “I want you to hurry up.”

“Seriously?” John asked. “You want your first time to be rushed?” he asked skeptically as though Sherlock clearly hadn't thought this through.

“No, but I would like it to be quicker than the rate at which snails reproduce.”

“Do snails have sex?” John asked curiously as his finger began to move incrementally faster.

“Yes. And it's a tedious ordeal to watch, it takes them hours.”

John shook his head, “I’ll never understand the information that you deem valuable enough to store away.”

“A man’s alibi depended upon me knowing how long it takes for snails to mate,” Sherlock said defensively. “And it was tedious enough that it was deemed information to store because I didn’t want to watch it again.”

John laughed but then his mouth went back to the head of Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock stopped thinking about snails again. John prepared him carefully, but thankfully not too slowly,; he seemed to be able to keep Sherlock suspended in that place where everything was hot and tingly, where his head was fuzzy and he felt desperate and like he could have come a half dozen times already by the time John’s third finger finally breached him.

“Fuck,” Sherlock groaned as he felt his muscles stretch to accommodate the girth of John’s fingers.

John pulled off Sherlock’s cock once more, “Alright?”

“John, if you ask me that one more time I am going to pull your fingers out of my arse and do it myself.”

John chuckled, “Pushy, pushy,” he murmured.  Then his mouth moved back Sherlock’s cock and he lapped at the head his mouth soft and perfect. After a few moments he pulled off again, his fingers scissoring and twisting but quite obviously avoiding brushing against Sherlock’s prostate no matter how Sherlock attempted to gyrate his hips to get John to press against it. “At the risk of incurring your wrath, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Sherlock groaned, “Beyond ready.”

John grinned up at him, he pressed one more chaste kiss to his cock before he removed his fingers and slid up the bed, settling himself between Sherlock’s thighs. John looked at Sherlock for a moment, then took a deep breath and started to speak.

“John,” Sherlock interrupted impatiently before he could get a word out. “I’m sure about this. I’m ready. I’m all of the things that you are asking. I want this. I want _you._ Now fuck me.”

John rolled his eyes, “I hate you,” he grumbled good naturedly, pressing his lips affectionately to Sherlock’s.

“No you don’t,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly as he wrapped his legs around John’s hips in hopes that he would get the idea and move a little more quickly. “You love me, you’ve told me half a dozen times this morning alone.”

John laughed, “That’s not the appropriate response to someone telling you they love you,” he said, grinning at Sherlock and pressing his cock against Sherlock’s entrance teasingly, “But I really do, you git.”

Sherlock grinned up at him and wrapped his arms around John's neck, pulling him down to kiss him, “I love you, too, you beautiful idiot,” Sherlock replied softly. John's face lit up with a radiant smile that Sherlock had to taste. He leaned up and kissed him again for a long moment. “Now fuck me.” Sherlock whispered against John’s lips before nipping at them playfully.

“Your wish is my command,” John said. His hands grasped Sherlock’s hips and he pressed slowly forward.

Sherlock groaned, “Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted, rocking his hips further down on John’s cock.

“You’re incredible,” John murmured, wonder clear in his voice.

Sherlock felt himself blush, never entirely sure how to accept John’s compliments.

John ran his fingers along Sherlock’s cheek, “You’ll probably hate me for saying this, but I find your insecurity far more endearing than I should.”

Sherlock glared at him but its effect was rather diminished by the way John tilted his hips and finally brushed across his prostate. “Fuck,” Sherlock gasped.

“That’s it,” John said, his fingers digging into Sherlock’s hips as he pressed all the way in, stretching Sherlock’s hole wide around his cock.

Sherlock groaned, “That feels amazing. So much better than my fingers.”

John laughed and leaned forward to press his lips to Sherlock’s, “I’m glad I’m living up to your fantasies."

“Well I wouldn’t go that far. Not yet, anyway.”

“You’re doing nothing at all for my ego,” John complained teasingly. He rocked his hips back out of Sherlock’s hole and then pressed back in again.

“The male ego is such a fragile thing,” Sherlock countered, although the breathy tone which seemed to have taken over his voice did nothing to help his case.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he murmured, “I promise by the end you’ll be singing my praises.” John reached back and unclasped Sherlock’s legs from behind his back, he drew them both up over his shoulders and pressed forward again, dragging his cock along his prostate.

Sherlock gasped, and his hips bucked, “Yes,” he moaned. “Please.”

John leaned forward, folding Sherlock’s body in half, “See,” he murmured pressing his lips to Sherlock’s teasingly, leaving Sherlock arching into him, chasing his lips. “One tiny adjustment and now it’s yes and please.”

“I’ll beg if it makes you fuck me harder,” Sherlock said bluntly.

“Would you beg for mercy twice, though?” John asked as he drew his cock out and pressed it achingly slowly back in.

“Uhhhhn,” Sherlock groaned as his cock dribbled out on his stomach from the pressure John was applying to his prostate. “Yes,” he gasped. “Oh, yes. I’d beg for mercy a thousand times over if it means you will fuck me hard enough to make me scream.”

“I think I can manage that,” John said as he drew his cock back out and pressed in slowly. “How attached are you to seeing me this time around?”

Sherlock groaned, he did love the prospect of seeing John but the thought of being rolled over onto his hands and knees on display for John while he worked his cock in and out of his hole, his prostate getting fucked into over and over because of how perfectly angled he could be had Sherlock nodding. “Yes, hands and knees is good.”

John chuckled and pulled out, leaving Sherlock groaning. They squirmed a bit until Sherlock had turned over and was on his hands and knees.

“No,” John said softly, guiding Sherlock to lie flat on his stomach and slipping a pillow under Sherlock’s hips. “Just relax,” John said softly as he spread Sherlock’s legs and positioned himself in between. John covered Sherlock’s back and pressed his cock in. Sherlock cried out as John’s cock rubbed over his prostate firmly and Sherlock’s cock leaked out onto the pillow.

He realized that the pillow’s placement was brilliant for two reasons, the first being that it tilted his hips up to the right angle, the second being that it didn’t give him a firm enough surface to thrust against. “Fuck, that’s good.”

John hummed whether in agreement or in a self-satisfied sort of way Sherlock wasn’t entirely sure.

Sherlock groaned, John’s cock felt impossibly big from this angle. It felt like he was being stretched even wider around him and it felt like he was pressing in impossibly deep. “Fuck, your cock is so perfect,” Sherlock whimpered.

John hummed and pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s neck, “Not as perfect as your tight little hole,” he murmured. Finally his hips rested firmly against Sherlock’s arse and he gave him a moment to adjust before he started to really move.

It was exquisite. The drag of John’s cock against his prostate, the way his hole felt like it was fluttering around John’s cock, the way his cock was leaking continuously onto the pillow beneath him from the perfect pressure.

“That’s it,” John murmured, “Fuck, Sherlock, just listen to the noises you make.”

With those words, Sherlock realized the moaning and whimpering that was pouring from his mouth between gasps and sharp exhalations. He hadn’t realized it was possible to feel this good, to feel like you were just getting pressed higher and higher; his mind completely clouded over with pleasure, his brain overridden with the smell of John and the feel of John curled around him, overridden with the way John moved and the way John sounded.

“John,” he cried out as John circled his hips and very purposefully ground against his prostate.

John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s sides, brushing over his rib cage before moving to his hips and grasping them firmly enough that as he snapped his hips forward, Sherlock was sure there would be bruises there later. He relished it, he loved whatever it was that had come over John, that had turned him into the commanding, dominant personality that was always lurking just under the surface.

“Yes,” Sherlock moaned, “Please John, oh,” John snapped his hips forward once more, “Uhhhn, yes. Please. Oh, John, John, John,” he chanted, pressing his hips back to meeting John’s thrusts as hard as his position could afford him.

“Hands on the headboard and on your knees,” John panted.

Sherlock did as he was bid, rising up onto his knees and bracing his hands on the top of the headboard, his back arched and his cock hung heavily between his legs.

“Brace yourself,” John said, grasping Sherlock’s hips once more. Then he thrust forward, and drew Sherlock’s hips back simultaneously and Sherlock literally saw white. Sensation exploded in his brain and he all but wailed.

Then John did it again and if Sherlock had thought it was fantastic the first time, he was completely unprepared for the way it felt the second time as the intense wave of pleasure washed over him before the first wave had receded.

This time the noises emerging from his mouth didn’t even sound human and there was nothing Sherlock could do to stop them from pouring out as John set up a cadence that left Sherlock breathless.

“Do you like that?” John groaned, he pressed a kiss between Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

“Yeh- Uhhhn. Fuck, John. Yes. Yes,” Sherlock cried out.  John slammed into his prostate again and then again, “Yes, there. Fuck, don’t stop. Oh,” he was all but weeping with how incredible he felt, every pleasure center in his brain was lit up. “Oh, fuck me, John. Don’t stop, don’t stop,” he gasped. “Never stop.”

“I won’t love,” he murmured, his hips snapping hard.

“John,” Sherlock gasped, suddenly feeling very close to the edge, not entirely sure how it had happened since John hadn’t even touched his cock. “John, I think I’m going to-” he paused as John thrust particularly accurately and pleasure so acute it almost hurt washed through his body, “Ohh! Yes, please John, oh! Yes, I’m going to-” he cried out, his balls clenching hard to his body and pulsing strongly before his come exploded from his cock. “Oh! I’m coming, John, yes. Oh!”

Sherlock didn’t think he’d ever come this hard in his life, his vision went black and John fucked him through his orgasm before he too was coming. Sherlock’s cock gave a twitch in sympathy when John came, a tiny spurt of come pushing it’s way from his cock and making Sherlock shudder.

The two of them flopped down in a heap on the mattress, Sherlock’s fingers were stiff from how tightly he’d been grasping the headboard but he couldn’t bring himself to care. John pressed lazy, exhausted kisses all over the skin on Sherlock’s neck and shoulders wherever he could reach.

After what seemed impossibly like a long time and a very brief time all at once, John pulled away gingerly. Sherlock whimpered in sensitivity and in a bit of discomfort at the twinge of pain as John pulled out.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” John said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls before he got up out of bed and staggered toward the door.

Sherlock felt his heart sink, and even though he knew it was in part because of the hormones coursing through his brain he couldn’t stop the way his eyes misted over at John’s departure.

But then John was back, pressing kisses to his spine as he wiped up the mess they’d made. After he finished he crawled back into bed and drew Sherlock to him and out of the wet patch. Sherlock snuggled into John, resting his head over John’s heart.

“This isn’t quite what I imagined sex with you would be like,” John said and Sherlock could hear the grin in his voice.

Sherlock swallowed, he knew that if he were more awake and hadn’t just been shagged in what had been a thoroughly enjoyable experience for both of them, he would have felt a bit insecure, “What exactly did you imagine?”

“Well, a lot of things. Achingly sweet and tender because I know you’re secretly rather sentimental. And I imagined it being a bit like the way the sun burns up, hot and fast because you have so much energy,” John paused for a moment as though he weren’t quite sure if he should say the next thing. “I’ve also imagined it kinky as fuck because it’s you and nothing about you is ordinary.”

“So how is this not living up to your expectations?” Sherlock asked cautiously, forcing himself to move so he could look at John’s face.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” John said with a soft, sweet smile; he brushed Sherlock's curls off his face. “This is fantastic, _you_ are fantastic but I didn’t imagine it being this light. I’d never imagined the bantering or you being this playful; I didn’t imagine it would be this easy.”

“You’re my best friend,” Sherlock said softly. “I don’t ever decide how I want to act when I’m with you, it just happens and for the most part it’s easy.”

John smiled at him, “You’re my best friend, too.”

And that was that. Sex for John and Sherlock was many things, it was sweet and hot, fast and achingly slow, it was emotional and it was full of laughter, and sometimes it was kinky as fuck but it was always incredible. Their sex life mirrored their real life in every way that mattered because at their core they were just two best friends who loved each other more than anything else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end, sweeties. I hope that you enjoyed this one! <3


End file.
